The Nothing Job

by Nick Oldham

  ‘That’s what I would think too.’

  ‘Unless what he’s into here is too profitable to leave?’

  ‘Only Scartarelli will be able to tell us that, I guess.’

  A silence descended between them. A huge buzzing wasp flew past Henry’s head, making him duck instinctively. ‘Jeez, that was a big one.’

  Georgia laughed, then stopped suddenly. ‘You saved my life last night,’ she said seriously. ‘I’d like to thank you. I wasn’t very gracious about it at the time.’

  Henry dipped his head. ‘Heat of the moment. You seem to have recovered well.’

  ‘They were rotten shots.’

  Both smiled, locked eyes and a moment of connection passed between them. Inside, Henry told himself to beware of the look that could lead to lust. Not long ago, he would have liked to believe he had the skills and abilities to drag this woman, kicking and screaming orgasmically, to bed – despite the proximity of her partner. Thinking of which, Henry said, ‘How was your inspector about it last night?’

  ‘Angry that he wasn’t the one to save my life, angry that his shots completely missed the men in the car, and other stuff,’ she said.

  ‘It’s lucky he didn’t kill any of the bats flying around. Guns and booze don’t mix.’

  She laughed. ‘He’ll get over it. He’s a bit of a dinosaur now. Very gentlemanly and very sexist at the same time.’

  ‘I know the type.’

  Her face changed into one of affection as she glanced at Tekke who was back to discussing firearms with Bill. ‘He’s OK.’

  A flurry of vehicles passed, several turning towards the Akamas. Henry glanced up, not really paying them much attention.

  His mobile phone rang, irritating him. It was tuned into the local provider, charging a horrendous rate for both making and receiving calls. He picked it up from the table and answered it, his eyes still on the traffic. A few minutes earlier he had placed a call through to Jerry Tope, his tame – but angry at being left behind – intelligence officer and computer hacker. Tope was still rumbling because he was sitting behind his desk and computer, not on a sun-drenched restaurant terrace on a jolly. Henry indicated to Georgia that he would take the call away from the table, so he stood up and moved from under the shade of the veranda into the sunshine which hit him like a furnace.

  ‘It’s Jerry … that name you gave me?’

  ‘Walter Corrigan?’

  ‘Yep. I’ve been on a trawl through numerous databases on your behalf, most of which I’m not supposed to have access to.’ He made it sound as though he was doing Henry a great favour, rather than just doing the job he was paid for. ‘And there’s pretty much no trace.’

  ‘Pretty much?’ Henry queried. ‘Either is or ain’t.’ He was shading his eyes with his free hand, watching traffic and surreptitiously glancing at Georgia, who was now sipping a Greek coffee. The light filtering through the slatted veranda roof dappled across her and made her appear even more attractive. Henry stifled a shudder of appreciation, deciding that watching the road was the more sensible option.

  ‘Well, there is a mention of him in one database I looked at.’ Tope had seemingly decided to keep Henry dangling on the end of a hook.

  ‘Look, Jerry,’ Henry began testily, ‘I promise if there’s any more jollies coming up, you can come with me. How about that? Now just effin’ tell me.’

  ‘OK, the guy who came up isn’t English or British for a start. He’s a Yank.’

  ‘How did you find that out?’

  ‘I’d rather not reveal where I’ve looked. Y’know – satellites have ears? Needless to say it’s a database belonging to a company from across the pond.’

  ‘Jerry, just tell me, eh? Let’s live dangerously.’

  ‘Call me on a landline and I will,’ he said stubbornly. ‘I really don’t want to chance it.’

  ‘Right, whatever.’ Henry grunted and turned to face the road as two vehicles shot past him, coming off the main road and heading towards the Akamas, putting up dust behind them. It was one of those moments for Henry, and he’d had a few in his career, when he needed to keep his calm. To ensure he did not stare open-mouthed or show that anything was different in any way whatsoever. The only thing he allowed himself was the usual hidden contraction of his ring piece and it was only a doctor conducting a rectal examination at that exact moment who could have determined that Henry Christie was excited. ‘How’s the weather across there?’ he asked nonchalantly, still shading his eyes but not allowing himself to turn his head at all, or allow his non-verbals to betray, in any way, the fact that the driver of the first car was none other than Paulo Scartarelli.

  ‘Pissing down.’

  ‘Good.’ Henry snapped his phone shut and walked slowly back up the steps of the veranda, then found it impossible not to dash the last ten feet to Georgia’s table and blab.

  She leapt to her feet. ‘You certain?’

  ‘Hundred per cent.’

  ‘But you’ve never seen him in the flesh.’

  ‘Seen mugshots. I’m sure.’

  She indicated urgently to Tekke and fished out her police radio from her bag. ‘Piali – are you receiving?’

  The radio crackled a reply. ‘Yes.’

  ‘Target One en route, repeat, Target One en route.’

  A few seconds passed. Henry guessed Piali was pulling his wits together.

  ‘OK, received.’

  Henry heard footsteps behind the voice meaning the detect-ive had probably quit his OP and had been caught lounging about somewhere else in the house, half-asleep.

  Tekke and Bill joined them. Georgia quickly told them the situation.

  ‘What do we do?’ Henry said, the excitement now showing in his body language, more widespread than his arsehole.

  ‘Sit tight,’ Georgia suggested. She raised her eyebrows at Tekke who shrugged and looked desperately pissed off.

  ‘Your case,’ he said, bouncing the ball back into her court.

  ‘OK, we sit tight and just make sure he goes to the villa. If he does, then as soon as he’s settled, we hit him.’

  ‘Just us four and Piali?’ Henry asked.

  ‘I’ll arrange for uniform backup.’

  She sat down at the table, biting her bottom lip, her eyes darting around nervously as she worked out the moves. Henry sat, too, letting it all happen. He had no jurisdiction here and was happy to let others make the decisions.

  ‘DS Papakostas?’ It was Piali on the radio.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘He’s arrived – at least a Range Rover has pulled into the drive of the villa and driven under the awning. Two males got out and entered the house. Could not ID either.’

  ‘Thanks for that.’

  Henry had a sudden thought, recalling that two vehicles came off the road, the lead one a Range Rover, the one behind a Nissan Patrol, another four-wheel drive. He frowned. Could they have been together? It was his gut feeling that maybe they were. He leaned on the table. ‘I might be wrong, but it’s possible there was another vehicle with Scartarelli. They both came off the main road at speed, as if travelling in convoy. Just a feeling, nothing else.’ He jerked his fingers tightly. ‘Not sure.’

  ‘But only one has turned up at the villa,’ Georgia pointed out.

  ‘True.’

  ‘I vote we get to Piali and take it from there,’ Tekke said.

  ‘It’s just that …’ Henry began weakly.

  ‘Second vehicle could be a lookout, or something,’ Georgia said.

  He shrugged. ‘Who knows?’

  Georgia thought about it. ‘Just me and Henry go,’ she decided. Tekke looked crestfallen and his dark eyes shot between her and the English detective, suspicion in them. ‘If we go, all four of us in one vehicle, and the second car is somehow connected and is watching Scartarelli’s back, four of us in a car could cause them to jump.’

  ‘OK,’ Tekke said reluctantly.

  ‘Come,’ Georgia said to Henry. She brushed past him, down the veranda steps a
nd into the tiny car park where she climbed into the Terrano. Henry was just behind her, feeling that great surge of cop-juice, the drug that had kept him going for almost thirty years. One day it would kill him, he thought, but he could not help from keeping a smile off his face as Georgia forced the car into reverse, swung it backwards in an arc out of the car park, then hit the gas.

  The dusty road bore slightly left, after which was the turn-off right into the estate on which the villa was situated. Just beyond this junction on the road to the Akamas was the car that had been behind Scartarelli’s Range Rover. The Nissan Patrol was parked up by the roadside, exhaust fumes belching from the tail pipe, the engine therefore on and idling.

  ‘The second car,’ Henry confirmed to Georgia’s sideways glance.

  ‘So they are together,’ she concluded, then turned right on to the estate.

  ‘If they clocked this car on the car park when they flew past, we could have blown it,’ Henry warned.

  ‘We’ll see … but this country is filled with brown Terranos, you know?’

  ‘I’ve noticed.’

  Georgia pulled into the steep drive of the OP villa and drove into the underground garage, the car lurching on its suspension as it jarred to a stop. She got out, Henry in tow, rushing through the villa, literally clambering over the fun buggy into the villa itself, then up the stairs to Piali who was now eagerly glued to his binoculars, watching for any activity at the target premises. He didn’t even look around when Georgia and Henry barged in.

  ‘Anything?’ Georgia asked, panting.

  ‘Nothing.’

  She exhaled unsteadily and flicked back some invisible wisps from her face.

  ‘No, something,’ Piali corrected himself. ‘They’re getting back into the Range Rover.’

  ‘Shit.’ Georgia wrenched the binos from him and took over. ‘Damn it,’ she uttered. ‘Tekke,’ she said into her radio. ‘They’re on the move again.’

  ‘OK.’

  Henry lifted one of the blinds a quarter of an inch and peeped out to see the Range Rover drawing out of the driveway. As it pulled away from the villa, it went out of sight but Henry knew it was travelling along the cul-de-sac parallel to where he was, then back on to the road which was the spine of the estate.

  Georgia forced the binoculars back into Piali’s hands and said to Henry, ‘Front bedroom.’ She tugged at his T-shirt and ran through the house to the main bedroom, opening the French windows and stepping on to the balcony. The vista was as Henry remembered – the sea, the village and to the right, the Akamas. The Range Rover flashed down past the end of the road, then out of sight again, but a few moments later was back in view. They watched it, with the Nissan Patrol, travelling west along the gritted track into the national park. Then, because of trees and geography, it went out of sight.

  The detectives looked at each other.

  ‘I think we should follow,’ she said.

  ‘Me too,’ he agreed. There might not be another chance of nailing Scartarelli.

  ‘But if we use the Terrano, it could give the game away.’ She regarded Henry thoughtfully. ‘Ever been in a fun buggy?’

  ‘A what?’

  ‘Tourists hire them all the time,’ she said, dragging Henry back down to the garage where the buggy was parked. ‘They’re all over the place. This one belongs to my uncle, but I use it lots.’

  Henry looked doubtfully at the two-seater buggy, recalling that even in the short time he’d been on the island, he’d seen several. He thought they looked pretty dangerous.

  ‘We’ll blend in perfectly, more or less – and they’re ideal for the Akamas.’ She looked at their garb. ‘I suppose we’d look better in shorts,’ she said. Both were dressed in jeans. ‘What’ve you got underneath your jeans?’

  ‘Marks and Spencer Y-fronts.’

  ‘Not boxers?’ she asked astounded. ‘I thought all men wore boxers.’

  He glared at her. She giggled. ‘Jeans’ll have to do, I guess.’

  ‘What’ve you got on under yours?’ he demanded to know.

  She gave him a quick wink. ‘That’s for you to find out.’

  Actually he already knew she was wearing a thong because he’d seen the top when she’d bent over earlier and her T-shirt had ridden up, exposing her back. Henry’s eyes could not tear themselves away from the tanned skin and the butterfly tattoo at the base of her spine.

  She jumped into the driving seat of the buggy and strapped herself into the bucket seat like a fighter pilot.

  Eyeing the hazardous-looking contraption with trepidation, Henry swung into the other seat and fumbled inexpertly with his seat belt.

  ‘Perhaps we should just wait here for them to come back.’

  ‘They may not necessarily come back this way. The Akamas is criss-crossed with tracks and they could even get across to Polis. It’s rough, but easy in a four-wheel drive. My guess, though, is that they’re eating out, meeting someone, perhaps. I can’t think of any other reason for him to go into the park. It’s not as though he’s a tourist.’

  ‘Eating out?’ Henry said.

  She fired up the 250cc engine. ‘I’ll explain … now hold on.’

  She drove up the steep drive and on to the road where they came across the sturdy figures of Bill and Tekke making their way to the OP villa on foot. Georgia stopped the buggy and shouted over the noisy ‘phut-phut’ of the two-stroke engine. ‘You guys follow slowly in the Terrano. Keys are in it. Arrange for backup to be ready,’ she added to Tekke, who gave her a mock salute and still looked severely pissed off. He was sweating, his jacket was slung over his shoulder and a cigarette dangled from the corner of his mouth.

  With that, she gave a quick wave. Henry shrugged helplessly at Bill as if none of this was his fault – and they were off.

  ‘If nothing else,’ she shouted into Henry’s ear, ‘it’s a great way to see the Akamas.’

  They left the tarmacked road behind and bounced in a lively way on to the track, which was, in essence, the main road through the park. Behind the buggy rose a huge cloud of dust from the road surface.

  Georgia put her foot down. Henry braced himself for a rough ride.

  NINE

  The ride was bouncy and spine-jarring as the little vehicle, nothing more than an engine on a frame, crashed over the pitted track. Even though he was tightly held in and there was a roll-cage for protection, Henry had little doubt that at the speed they were travelling, they would flip over sooner rather than later.

  Georgia seemed intent on going as quickly as possible, picking out all the ruts and boulders and glancing sideways at Henry to witness his discomfort, laughing each time the buggy smashed down and made him gasp for the air that was forced out of his lungs. It was like being taken on a wild safari.

  Despite all this, Henry could see that the Akamas was a harsh, beautiful place, with large tracts of impenetrable-looking bushes, some pine trees and lots and lots of dust, most of which billowed out behind them. It would have been hard being a close-following car.

  ‘I take it you’re a bit of an expert at this,’ he shouted hopefully.

  ‘When I was younger I hired buggies regularly to come out here with friends, down to the beaches to swim.’ She jerked the steering wheel sharply down, avoiding a particularly large and jagged outcrop of rock in the trail, sending stones and gravel skittering out behind them in a shower. ‘I love it,’ she shouted.

  Suddenly the road veered down to the right and they passed a restaurant at the foot of a steep valley. Henry noticed two large fat pigs sleeping in the shade of a tree. Then they climbed up the other side of the valley and emerged on the flat, Henry mesmerized by the crystal-clear sea out to his left. Next the trail dipped sharply down and Georgia slowed the buggy to a crawl as the size of the boulders grew and the buggy had to pick its way, lurching, over a dried-up river bed. Then she gunned the willing engine and accelerated away with a whoop.

  ‘Well, they weren’t at that restaurant,’ she said after she’d calmed down
. ‘They might be at the next one, but if they’re not there, they could be making over to Polis … if so, better hold on tight.’

  ‘How far is the next restaurant?’

  ‘Not far now.’

  After another quarter-mile, Georgia skewed the buggy to a stop at a T-junction, allowing all the brown dust behind them to catch up and envelop them in a choking cloud.

  Henry wafted it away disgustedly after breathing in a lungful and coughing and spluttering like a smoker.

  As it cleared it revealed a rustic signpost in front of them which simply pointed to The Last Castle.

  ‘Whatever happens,’ Georgia said, ‘if we get a chance, we’ll come up here for a meal before you leave. It’s fantastic.’ She pointed ahead, up a rugged hill. ‘The food’s simple, but good, and the position and atmosphere – stunning.’

  Henry peered up, seeing the track rise to what looked like the old stone wall of a castle.

  ‘Was it once a castle?’ he asked stupidly.

  ‘Yep – that’s why it’s called the Last Castle.’

  ‘I’ll have that,’ Henry said, then groaned as the buggy bounced and landed hard.

  ‘Unfortunately the car park is at the back of the restaurant, so we’ll only know for sure if he’s here when we arrive.’

  Henry had to admit it was a great spot, perched on the top of a steep hill with tremendous views across to the sea. They were driving along the foot of a steep gorge and the road split, the left fork taking them up to the restaurant, the right one disappearing into the wilderness, he guessed.

  Henry’s mobile phone rang. It was Jerry Tope, who had been waiting impatiently for Henry to call him via landline.